A Twist in Fate
by azurewolf-sinner
Summary: This is a story set in the days of the Tokugawa Revolution, where Battousai is renowned and feared until a fellow Hitokiri, Kaoru Kamiya, comes along with equal stature and forms a rivalry, but both suffer betrayal by their organizations.
1. Prologue

Prologue

I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, I'm merely inspired by it.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the sharp scent of fresh blood, emanating from behind the wooden door. The feeling that he ignored, that something was amiss culminated in the scene he was yet to behold, and he was aware of it. He was not alone.

His subtle anger hardened to a lump in his throat as he slowly opened his feline eyes and kicked open the door. His amber eyes burned more fiercely than the approaching lanterns as they drank in the scene before him. Blood splashed the walls, and the tatamis were bloated with it. The body of the old tyrant lay crumpled in a corner, his mouth horribly disfigured in a frozen scream, as his neck gaped open.

The leaves outside in the garden rustled, and his head snapped in that direction. The figure blended into the darkness of the trees in the wind, but not before he glimpsed the fellow amber orbs, their own lantern in the eerie darkness of the Tokugawa era. This was not amateur, and definitely not coincidental.

The whistles grew louder, throwing him off balance for a moment before he himself fled into the darkness. The thoughts pounded in his head, in time to his footfalls on the dirt path, as he contemplated betrayal within the organization. Betrayal…he needed to inform Katsura.

He ran, a demon shadow of the night to the headquarters to report of betrayal.


	2. Fan Games

Fan Games

He sat alone after his debriefing to Katsura of the suspected betrayal, hoping the freshly brewed summer sake would be enough to drown out the nonsensical laughter and conversations he had the misfortune to overhear; that it would be enough to erase the fact that someone knew of his identity and had relieved him of his duty of assassinations.

"Impossible," he scoffs, "I'm still the best there is." But the words didn't hold as much comfort as they used to, with the rise of recent rogue killings, some of them his own marks as administered by Katsura. No one could be able to replace him. No one knew of him to begin with.

He sighed and threw the sake down his throat, enjoying the pleasurable burn like an ointment for aching muscles. He relaxed with his eyes closed, the liquid courage slowly warming his body and filling him with confidence. He heard the door slide open, but he remained lost in his alcoholic rapture. The sake never tasted this sweet, or maybe he never allowed it to. His eyes half opened as the scent of cherry blossoms filter past him, and a vague flash of colour caught his attention.

He opened one eye to watch her sit, unknown nobility out of place amongst them, in the way she smiled at the waitress, tucked her blue black hair behind her ear and fidgeted with the sleeve of her elegant pink kimono. No…such beauty didn't belong in the terrifying city of Kyoto, among death and misery; amongst people like him. She remained oblivious to his and every other man's obvious ogling, fixated on the silken white fan in front of her.

He watched her as she slowly became conscious of her surroundings, her discomfort becoming more noticeable. Her eyes flitted around the room, and slowly caught his with genuine curiosity at his static pose, and obvious admiration. He could've sworn he saw an undertone that he couldn't decipher but it was gone the next moment, as she hid her eyes behind her uneven fringe.

Her fingertips were steady and sure as she held the sake cup to her mouth and slowly drained it. His amber eyes never relaxed themselves from her, specifically from her lips; violet shaped and red against the flush of her skin. He never released his gaze from the stray drop of sake against her full lower lip, and her tongue that darted out to remove it. She was the attention grabber of the night, yes, the beauty that every man dreams of but could never have, every man's desire.

She looked up from beneath her blue black fringe as if she could read his thoughts, and smiled at him, the red of her lips like blood against the snow. Her eyes glittered in the warm candlelight, yet he could see the smile didn't quite touch her eyes. There was something else… He felt a pang, like he ought to know what misery lay in them, and heard the warning bells in his head, and felt his blood curdling, but attributed it to having drank too much beer. He sighed and relinquished his seat to some other fool in desperate need of her visual cheer.

He slowly trudged up the street, ignoring the sounds of people and their concessions. He hated them in that moment, jealous of enjoyment and happiness, and the ability to look at things with innocent beauty. Beauty….

That smile…. Those lips…. Those eyes…. Those…

Amber eyes…

He had to make sure. It was impossible she could have amber eyes. He ran back to the sake house, to his previous seat, denial ringing throughout his head. It was impossible for her to be the intruder of last night; she was a woman for heaven's sakes!

He looked across her seat and saw that she had vanished. She had however left her fan on the table. He picked it up, unsure of the possibility of these new events but his thoughts were disturbed by the scent.

Blood.

He examined the fan, almost willing it to tell of her whereabouts, to confirm his fears, and received his answer in the dried brown message upon the eaves:

"You're next."

His eyes grew wide, not with the fear of the threat, but with the fact that his identity was indeed known, and the recent killings were a message for him. What disturbed him most though, was that he had let her slip through his fingers, that a woman was responsible for this. A woman..deposed him.

He threw the fan inside his sleeve, almost as if touching it would burn the skin off his fingers, and ran silently in the darkened alleyways to Headquarters, with the moon taunting him with its crystalline beauty.


	3. Retribution

Retribution

She sat against the wooden frame, with the soft midnight silk of her long hair in her hand. The night was beautiful, with the chilly wind giving her a feeling of rebirth, after the night she'd just had. As fresh as she felt, the amber eyes betrayed her weariness as she gazed upon the stars. It was unfair how the torrents of misfortune never seemed to touch them, even if they were miles above the earth. Unfair.

She sighed and pulled her yukata tighter to her petite frame, closing her eyes to mull on the earlier events. His beautiful red hair to rival her own, in the candlelight…

-How can a murderer be so discreet with red hair? He sticks out like a sore thumb if only because of that.-

The amber eyes boring into her façade, almost as if he could read her every heart's wish and need…..

-Amber eyes, like me. Amber marks you for what you are, evil at its best.-

And that smile….

-The true smile of a killer.-

But you're just like any man, dress a girl up in a kimono, make her smile and bat her eyes and you become nothing more than her plaything. Ordinary. Weak.

The anger constricted her throat, and her palms gripped the floorboards, knuckles and fingernails white. She'd make him pay. She'd make him suffer for all the lives he ruined. Her life. The top slid off her lap and landed with a soft thud at her feet, and the red silken ribbon twined around her calloused fingers, evidence of her suffering and proof of her status as the assassin stronger than the Battousai himself.

"Hey! Kamiya! Good work tonight! I bet you've got the Battousai cowering now, since he knows you're not afraid and won't hide in the shadows like he does!"

She smiled at the darkness, broken, weary and with silent oath as her fellow assassin's praise broke the still night.


	4. Threatened

Threatened

He had gone down to the training field to work off his exhaustion and to placate the furious thoughts in his head. The pouring rain was perfect for it, his soaked clothes adhering to his small frame made it difficult to move, it challenged him. The cold was good for thinking.

Her eyes had been burnt into his mind, scarred with familiar beauty. He closed his eyes and felt the individual raindrops upon his skin, visualizing her face as the straw post in front of him. The sinister smile bloomed upon his lips as he drew his katana, and re sheathed in almost the same moment. He opened his eyes, molten with the pleasure of his shinsoku (god-speed). This was the power of the Battousai, no one could be better than he.

The Ryu kan sen had obliterated the straw post, with the last remnants fluttering to the mud below.

Katsura watched the crimson haired boy's progress atop the hillside, under the shelter of an umbrella. His face remained motionless but his eyes betrayed his emotions. He was honoured to be in the presence of one with such great potential, a child nevertheless. He was impressed, just like every other man on the field who'd stopped his own training to watch Kenshin's merciless attack. Grown men, in awe of a boy; men, afraid of him, the extraordinary Himura Kenshin.

"He's worthy of being called the pride of the Choshu, eh, Katsura? Think he'll be good enough for her?" Iizuka grinned at their leader.

The rain ceased, and without reply Katsura closed his umbrella. Weighted hazel eyes gaze upon the field, laying bare every silent worry and secrets. The child manslayer turned, almost knowingly, and caught the sight of his leader, his own ochre eyes tainted with blood and curiousity, and the silent summons passed understood between them.

Kenshin gazed up at the pregnant rain clouds, as if they were somehow foretelling doom. Katsura stood next to him, eyes searching the training field for nothing in particular. "Himura. You know the new manslayer's interception cannot occur again. She is jeopardizing our secrecy and the Shinsen-gumi are looming closer than ever. You know what you must do, for the good of our clan."

Kenshin's eyes drifted to a young boy on the training field, and wondered if this is what he seemed like to others, a child amidst grown men practicing death. Katsura looked down at the boy, sensing that his words were not sufficient. He made one last attempt to capture Kenshin's interest.

"My sources say she is Kamiya Kaoru. It is said that her abilities rival those of yours, Himura."

"Never."

"Maybe. They say she's a mixture of swordsman and ninja, trained in all defenses. So far she's given credit to her name."

"No woman is better than I. She's as good as dead, Katsura, I assure you," Kenshin commented coldly, striding off into the direction of his room. His eyes burned with an insatiable fire, and with unadulterated hatred for the woman whose skills and beauty cost him his name and pride.

Katsura smiled as the boy strolled off.


	5. Chapter 5

Promises

Kaoru sat atop the branch of the tree, exhausted from her gruelling sparring match against her master's right hand man. She looked down at him, as he replaced his daggers and katanas, and pondered upon his need for wearing a mask. She scoffed as the saddening truth silenced her own questions: She was a woman, and a liability, despite her exceptional capability. Stupid male arrogance.

"Kamiya!" The shout from below intruded upon her thoughts.

"Kamiya! The boss wants to meet you now! He's got a new assignment for you!"

Kaoru leapt to the ground with the agility of a feline, a panther to be exact, with her long, midnight ponytail, reminiscent of a panther's tail. She walked with confidence to her master's room, drawn from bloodshed. She was soon seated on the other side of a paper screen door, with the candlelight flickering, offering to her the shadow of her master. It had always been like this, with the paper door between them. She again questioned the need for such secrecy, but her thoughts were interrupted once again.

"Kamiya."

"Yes, master?"

"I've got a new mission for you. You've trained well and tonight you will strike fear in the Choshu clan's hearts. You shall have the honour of removing their Battousai."

Kaoru's eyes gleamed with the prospect of vengeance, the excitement obvious in the form of a grin. She bowed low to the tatami mats, her heart beating wildly.


	6. Chapter 6

Bloody Rain

She crouched low to the shingled rooftop, awaiting any signal of his presence. Her sources had told her that he usually strolled past here, at midnight. The moon lay hidden behind a dark and terrifying expanse of clouds, but she was grateful. The cold wind too, had kept her alert.

Soft ,steady footfalls in the dirt caught her attention and she peered below at the flame haired teenager making his way in the shadows of the buildings. He was not much older than she, nor was he anything like his name. Who would've thought the Battousai could look almost as frail as she? But Kaoru knew better than to judge appearances, from her own experience. Their eyes gave them away for what they were.

He had gotten close enough now. Her heart grew tight, and the anger she felt against him steeled her limbs and forced her into action. She would avenge those she lost, and the others whose lives he took.

She blew the poisoned senbon, at his vital areas, early triumph easing her into relaxing. Her eyes widened with a brief moment of fear, as with his god-like reflexes, he drew his katana and deflected them all.

His amber orbs cast their demonic light in her direction. He crouched low, in wait for her attack.

She unsheathed her katana, and calmly inhaled, before matching the intensity of his stare. This was the Battousai, the feared Hitokiri of Kyoto, and she was going to be the one to dispose of his senseless killings. He needed to be stopped.

"Big brother, little brother, this is for you. May his blood bring forth flowers on your graves."

With the speed of lightning, she leapt off of the rooftop and into the cold air, at the Battousai.

His eyes grew wide with recognition as he awaited her. She was going to use Ryu Tsui sen.

Time seemed to freeze as he saw her duplicate the attack so familiar to him. She knew the Hiten Mitsurugi style. It was no surprise then, how she could be compared to him. But she knew….

His body crouched low, he gripped the hilt of the katana tighter with steady palms, the façade of a sinister smile playing upon his lips, despite the fissure in his confidence.

He refused to be daunted by the frail woman, whose sword was finally drawing near, in what seemed like slow motion. His body tensed and he drew his own katana to meet hers.

"Let the bloody rain fall."


End file.
